


Bad Day

by mrs_d



Series: Dead Ends [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, these boys don't bleed on other people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “Is there something I can do to help?” Steve asked.“No,” Sam said finally, and when he turned around, whatever vulnerability had been there was gone.





	Bad Day

“When do we start?” Sam had asked him in the graveyard, and Steve still didn’t have an answer.

The next day, all day, while Sam went back to work at VA, Steve walked. He started on the path he took running every morning, circled the tree where he’d met Sam a few times, then wandered a while, checked out some areas of DC he hadn’t seen before. He got one hell of a sunburn, stopped for lunch on a shaded patio, let his skin heal for an hour before he left again. He walked to the edge of the city, and when he turned around to go back, he realized the sun was setting and that he’d worn out the soles of his shoes, so he called a cab and went home.

Home, for now, was Sam’s house, since his apartment was still crawling with FBI agents and the media. Steve had gone there once, right after the hospital released him, but between the reporters’ belligerent questions and the suspicious looks from the FBI, he didn’t particularly want to go back. Sam hadn’t been surprised when Steve showed up on his doorstep again; in fact, he’d cleared some space, so Steve had a place to go. It was a kindness unlike anything Steve had experienced since waking up in this new life. SHIELD had set him up with a few different houses, but they’d never given him a home.

And that, he realized, as he put his key in the lock, was what he was missing in terms of starting the search for Bucky: where would the Winter Soldier call home?

Sam wasn’t back yet; Steve remembered him mentioning an evening group tonight, part of the extra sessions that the VA was running for veterans in the area who might have been triggered by the recent chaos — Steve’s insides squirmed with guilt — so he wouldn’t be home until late. Still, Steve cooked dinner, the same as he would any other night, since it was least he could do, given that Sam was putting him up. He put Sam’s chicken, roast potatoes, and green beans into a glass storage container and tucked it in the bottom of the fridge after letting it cool while he ate his own, staring down at the file Natasha had given him, skimming the Russian she’d translated.

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant read, though some of the shock had worn off now, since he’d read it at least a dozen times. This time, however, he was making mental notes, plotting locations on an internal map, cross-referencing places and dates, factual accounts and hazy memories.

He looked up from his notepad when Sam came in the door two hours later, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion and his feet dragging.

“Honey, I’m home,” he sighed, sinking into the chair across from Steve.

“Hi,” Steve said. His voice was a little croaky — he hadn’t spoken since thanking the cab driver — so he cleared his throat. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Sam replied. Steve hopped up and went to the fridge, and Sam lifted his head to give Steve a wry look. “Keep spoiling me like this, I’m not gonna want you to move out.”

Steve turned away to hide his smile. He felt that he and Sam had bonded a lot in the last few weeks, what with the battle and all, but he was still cautious about admitting how much that idea appealed to him. In fact, there were a lot of things about Sam — about this whole arrangement — that appealed to him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that at the moment.

“So, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to talk about my day,” Sam said when Steve pulled his plate out of the microwave and set it down in front of him. “What’d you do today?”

Steve hesitated, glancing at the file that was still spread out beside him. “Let’s just watch TV,” he suggested.

“That bad, huh?” Sam lamented.

He met Steve’s eyes, and Steve thought for one crazy second that Sam might cry. But then he was pushing his chair back from the table, picking his plate up, and heading to the living room.

“TV sounds good,” he said, settling on the couch and setting his dinner down on the coffee table. “So long as it’s not the news.”

“Agreed,” said Steve.

He waited for Sam to get settled, then sank onto the seat beside him and picked up the remote. They ended up watching a _Mythbusters_ marathon, which Steve found fascinating, but Sam fell asleep by the middle of the second episode, slumping onto Steve’s shoulder and softly snoring.

Steve let him sleep for another episode, until he realized that the position would surely hurt Sam’s neck. He started to ease himself away, hoping to lower Sam by degrees until his head was on the pillow in the corner of the couch, but it didn’t work — Sam just snuffled in his sleep and grabbed at Steve’s back when he tried to pull away.

Steve paused, considering his options. Not that he minded the idea of being a pillow, but...

“Sam,” Steve said softly. “Sam, wake up and go to bed.”

Sam grunted and shook his head slightly.

“Sam?” Steve tried again.

Sam’s eyes opened, just a notch. “Can I not?”

“You want to sleep out on the couch?”

Sam made a tiny frustrated sound and inhaled, his eyes opening fully. “No. You’re right. I should go to bed. I just...”

“Just what?” Steve prompted, when it became obvious that Sam wasn’t going to finish that sentence.

“I just had a bad day,” he said finally, pulling away completely to get to his feet and carry his dirty dishes into the kitchen. “That’s all.”

“Is there something I can do to help?” Steve asked, following him.

Sam stopped with his hands on the counter in front of the sink. Steve watched his back move with the motions of his breath.

“No,” he said finally, and when he turned around, whatever vulnerability had been there was gone. “I’m just gonna go to bed. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight,” Steve echoed, and he watched Sam climb the stairs. A minute later, he heard Sam’s bedroom door close.

He rinsed Sam’s dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then folded the file and tucked it out of sight. He did a full circuit of the house, checking that the doors and windows were locked and turning out the lights on his way by. Finally, he went upstairs to bed.

But he paused on his way. He’d heard something, a sound on the other side of Sam’s door. A gasp, a shuddery breath, a—

A sob.

Steve stood in the middle of the hallway, straining his ears. He could hear Sam breathing now, ragged and uneven. He’d heard it before, late at night, and when he’d asked, Sam had told him that he had nightmares; Steve understood that all too well. But Sam had only been in bed a few minutes. Steve was sure this couldn’t be a dream.

He raised his fist to knock, then hesitated. He’d asked Sam if he could help, and Sam’s answer had been clear. As much as Steve wanted to, it just wasn’t his place to barge in uninvited.

So he lowered his hand and slowly continued down the hall. He lay awake a long time, but he didn’t hear any more noises from next door.


End file.
